


An Office of Gentlemen

by Megg33k



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Office Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 07:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megg33k/pseuds/Megg33k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock wants to perform an experiment. while John is at work. Solution? Perform said experiment in John's office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Office of Gentlemen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shrillfangirlscreaming](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=shrillfangirlscreaming).



> This is a gift to shrillfangirlscreaming (Fofi) as my half of a Johnlock smut trade we agreed to.  
> Her half is better and can be found here: http://shrillfangirlscreaming.tumblr.com/post/33429782017/silver-and-gold
> 
> Thanks to pkmndaisuki (Jackie) for my title!

When John returned from lunch to find Sherlock sitting in his chair, the detective’s fingers steepled under his chin and his long legs kicked up and crossed atop the desk, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Nothing had really been any semblance of normal since their relationship had turned sexual… occasionally even romantic. The thought of putting Sherlock and romance in the same sentence sounded funny even in his head. And it didn’t happen often… just often enough he couldn’t completely deny it.

Today, however, John didn’t get a particularly romantic vibe coming from the other side of his desk. There was something in Sherlock’s eyes, expectation, want, and –much to his horror– determination. It’s not that he didn’t trust Sherlock, he did. He trusted the man with his life and, more recently, with his heart. But determination in Sherlock’s gaze usually meant there was no stopping whatever he’d decided he was about to do… and ‘what he was about to do’ was often very inappropriate for a working environment. He locked the door behind him, just in case.

Before he could take another step, Sherlock spoke in a low, even baritone. “Stay there.”

John froze, his back so close to the door that he could feel the cool of the varnished wood emanating through his shirt. He cleared his throat and waited for whatever came next. Because the tone of Sherlock’s voice clearly told him _something_ was coming next.

The grace with which Sherlock swung his legs to the ground, planted his feet, and rose to standing in one fluid motion was almost unsettling. The slight swagger in his gait as he crossed the room was even more unnerving. And the way his lips twitched into a salacious grin was flat-out filthy, inspiring equally indecent thoughts to swirl around in John’s head and a partial erection to match.

“I want to try something… an experiment.” Sherlock stood toe-to-toe with John, his left hand on the door by John’s right ear and his mouth close enough for his breath to wash over John’s face. It was always sort of indescribably sweet, never minty or fruity or any flavour you might expect to find on anyone’s breath… but it was intoxicating.

John closed his eyes and breathed deeply, the scent filling his nostrils and causing him to stiffen further. He thought about arguing, explaining why nothing that could possibly happen was an acceptable way to behave at work, but he didn’t care. The blood his brain needed to formulate those words had already drained straight to his cock. Instead, he nodded.

“Good.” Sherlock wedged his knee between John’s thighs and knocked them open slightly. His hand smoothed down John’s shirt and over the front of his trousers.

John took a ragged breath. “Are you trying to see if you can give me an erection whilst I should be working? Perhaps testing whether or not I have the restraint to keep you from stripping me down and having me on my desk?”

“Really, John?” Sherlock looked bored and a tad disappointed. “Clearly I have the answers to both of those questions already. It’s quite the opposite, actually.”

“Oh?” John’s voice trembled. “How so?”

Sherlock dropped to his knees in front of John. His left hand now off of the door and hovering near John’s throat, absently stroking his clavicle, sometimes drifting over toward the scar or moving down to tease at an already pointed nipple. “If I tell you, it’ll ruin the experiment.”

“Mm… ‘course.” John had no other words, and he couldn’t be bothered to try and come up with any under the circumstances.

Sherlock’s fingers trailed over his trousers like a blind man reading braille. He could only subtly feel Sherlock’s touch over parts of the material, the bits that tented around his growing prick and no longer touched the skin at his groin, and a hard edge was formed between taut fabric and engorged tissue. That’s the area where Sherlock focused his attention. His thumb slid to one side of the bulge, his other fingers staying steadfastly on the other. He nimbly followed the phallic ridge, stroking John through his clothing and grinning at the quiet moans which John tried desperately to stifle.

Moments later, John’s belt was discarded and his trousers around his knees, while his pants still clung to his hips. The heat of Sherlock’s breath loomed near John’s bollocks before the moisture of his saliva seeped through the cotton. He tongued his way up the still cloaked shaft, eventually stopping to suck at the growing wetness near the tip of John’s cock, which was now leaking pre-cum like lava from a volcano threatening to erupt.

Then the sensation was gone and Sherlock was standing, unfastening his own belt and letting his own trousers drop to his ankles before he pressed his body to John’s. When John tried to slip his hand under the elastic of Sherlock’s pants, the detective’s hand stopped him. “That’s not what we’re doing.”

 _Then what are we doing?_ John thought it but didn’t say it. He knew he’d only be met with the same answer as before: if I tell you, it’ll ruin the experiment. Instead he simply grunted, “Okay.”

Sherlock rocked his hips so that the base of his own cock rubbed near the tip of John’s. And John found the warmth of Sherlock’s balls, already tight and drawn up against his body, maddening. Long, nimble fingers clutched at John’s arse cheeks until one collapsed the fabric and filled the divide between them. The cloth of his pants strained against the rogue fingertip, but it still managed to tease at his entrance.

John groaned out of protest, wanting to feel more of his lover’s skin, the way in which he had become accustomed, but still utterly overwhelmed by the stimulation Sherlock did afford him. Eager lips sucked his earlobe, his jaw, and then his neck, teeth sinking into the sensitive skin and marking him. He threaded his fingers into Sherlock’s hair and pulled him into a deep kiss, relishing the points of contact he was allowed.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Sherlock spun him. The blunt tip of a very hard cock jutted into the small of his back; the hair on Sherlock’s thighs tickled against the back of his own. With no visual, he had to rely solely on his other senses. He pressed his hips back and ground against Sherlock’s prick. The cotton stretched across his cleft grew hot from the friction of their thrusting. The gentle rustle of fabric which had flooded his ears was suddenly drowned out by Sherlock’s whimpering, and then there was desperation in his movement.

“Oh, god, John… I’m close.” Sherlock’s voice was strained. Something in its timbre bordered on obscene, and it seemed John’s aural canal was suddenly hardwired to his cock.

John’s calves and thighs burned, the muscles having been tensed for far too long, but he still managed to roll his hips.

“Bloody fucking hell, I think I’m about to cum,” Sherlock choked out.

“Then do it,” John taunted, though he was surprised at the admission. Was this part of the experiment? Was Sherlock testing himself?

A few more rough jerks of Sherlock’s hips and he stilled. “Dammit! I can’t! I need you to touch me, John.”

He wouldn’t have to ask twice. In a breath, John was facing him, and they were both on the floor. Sherlock’s knees were pressed to either side of John’s thighs, and their blasted pants were, at long last, tugged down. His palm finally making contact with Sherlock’s erection was nearly enough to drive them both over the edge, but John couldn’t resist the –hopefully— once in a lifetime opportunity. So, he didn't stroke quite yet. “Look at us, up against the door of my office… and during work hours.”

“Fuck. Please.”

“Everyone in the hall is going about the day, oblivious to what we’re getting up to in here.” He gathered his own cock up in the same palm and starting stroking both at once.

“Mm… more… god.”

“I mean, before it was impure, inappropriate. But me pulling both of us off simultaneous during my work day? When anyone could just walk in on us?” Even in a rapt state, John caught Sherlock’s eye drifting toward the obviously locked door. He reached up with his free hand and flipped it to make an honest man of himself. “Imagine someone finding us here like this Sherlock… writhing on the floor… you cumming across my fist. I wanna feel you cum. Cum for me.”

Sherlock’s cock pulsed against just John’s, just slightly out of sync. The detective came with a broken, pitiful cry, and John’s followed some fraction of a second later. He saw nothing, just white then spots, and his penchant for loud expletives during orgasm had never been quite so regrettable. It didn't matter, though. Having one of the best orgasms of his life at 1:23pm on a dreary Wednesday afternoon whilst he should have been working made any speculation, snickers, and probable stares well worth it. Disapproval and jealousy looked fairly similar in just the right light.

It wasn’t until they were dressing that John noticed his button up had become somewhat of a casualty in the final moments of their encounter. “What exactly am I meant to do now? I can’t see patients this afternoon with... well... _semen_ on my shirt. God, I don't even know if it's yours or mine.”

“Likely both. Wear a jacket. I brought my coat in anticipation of just such a situation.”

“Yes, well… _some of us_ didn't know such a situation might arise today.”

“Always be prepared, John.” Sherlock smirked. “Have you really learned nothing after all this time?”

“What was the experiment anyway? I never quite worked it out.”

Sherlock crossed to John’s desk and leaned against it, fingering the rim of a cold cup of coffee that had been left sitting since that morning. “A film I was watching. It showed a young couple using non-penetrative forms of sexual intimacy to try and quell their more carnal desires, and the male was able to achieve orgasm in such a way… albeit much to his chagrin, from what I could tell. I wanted to see if it was actually possible.”

“Well, it _is_ possible, but only under the right circumstances, which these were clearly not. Maybe we’ll try again sometime... at home.”

“No, but thank you. One attempt was frustrating enough. I genuinely don’t understand why anyone would resist having sex if it was even a remotely plausible option.”

“Yes, it boggles the mind.” John rolled his eyes. “Speaking of mind-boggling scenarios, what do I do about my shirt?”

Sherlock picked up the coffee cup and made his way to the door. He opened it and proceeded to ‘accidentally’ spill its remaining contents down John’s entire front. “Oh, my. Look what I did,” he said loudly in the poorest display of acting ever attempted. “I've spilled coffee down you, John. Now you must go home and change clothes. Woe is me.”

John bit back a laugh. “You cheeky git. They all heard me, and you know it.”

“Yes, probably.” Sherlock peeked out the door. “No, no… definitely, as is suggested by the rampant, though quiet snickering. Now, let’s go while they’re nice enough to let you think they believe our ruse.”

They walked out, John close at Sherlock’s side, suddenly and completely uninterested in what any of the people around him thought or what they might say when he was out of earshot. He grinned up at Sherlock. “You do realize I’ll kill you if you ever pull a stunt like that again?”

“No, you won’t.” Sherlock knocked his shoulder into John’s. “You enjoyed it far too much.” He laced their fingers together. “But _you_ realize we’re definitely having sex when we get home, right?”

“Yes. Yes, we are.” John squeezed his hand, and they both giggled as they left the hospital in their wake.

**Author's Note:**

> Too impatient for a beta. I will take people up on their offers one day. I just didn't want to bother anyone at nearly 2am, and I didn't want to wait until tomorrow. Sorry for any mistakes. I'll catch 'em eventually.


End file.
